An Occasional Dream
by Octopus and Apple
Summary: The Countess DeWinter is sent from her homeland to redeem herself and unite in the fight against the Dark Lord. Doing this, she faces the friends who accused her of betrayal, and the lover she betrayed. Severus/OC, Hermione/OC. Not Epilogue compliant,


**A/N: Thanks all of you for reading this! This wouldn't have been possible without my lovely beta reader, theholysee!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own, I do not profit.**

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><p>"Of course, Countess- we are eager to introduce you to our Lord. He is a bit reclusive, however, so it might be a few days before we can properly set up a meeting."<p>

Lucius Malfoy was a preening man, but Henri knew that what he was saying was the truth- or at least, half the truth.

"I understand completely, Mr. Malfoy. I was prepared for such an occurrence. I know that he is still unpopular among several of Wizarding the factions here in England."

The voice was cultured, with the faintest hint of Italian lilt to it.

It was a bitterly cold fall day; the kind that forced those in denial of winter to face reality. Shivering, Henri pulled the heavy wool cloak tighter. The bit of fur on the collar tickled her nose, and she resisted the urge to sneeze. She removed one of the gloves from her long, pale hand to reach into a small basket that was hanging lazily on a post. It looked as if it had just been left there, but it glistened with spells to protect it from both the elements and anyone who might want to move it.

Feeling the eyes on her back, she focused on keeping a calm facade as she took a handful of the feed and spread it in a graceful arc to watch the peacocks strut over to peck at it.

Everything at Malfoy Manor was perfectly placed, perfectly styled. It was a place made to look frozen in time.

"This garden reminds me of one of the smaller ones at Versaille," she said, looking to Lucius.

The man puffed out like one of his prized peacocks, and Henri knew she had found a source of pride.

"Yes. Our family was the first to employ Bernard Vitalli and he designed many of the outer gardens after the fire of 1614. The gardens in the rear are of a more English style."

"Victorian tea gardens? I thought I spotted them from the window of the Blue Rooms."

It was the height of banality, all this talk of gardens and architecture. There was a point to all of it, of course. Enough time in the High Fae Courts and one learned to see the slightest of insults or compliments in the smallest of comments. With a popinjay like Lucius, compliments were the best way to garner information.

"Exactly, Countess. So, my Lord was curious. We haven't had much experience with your kind, and we were a little confused when we received the message from your emissaries."

Henri smiled softly, bending a dark head to sniff one of the ever-blooming roses. The flower opened for her, as if inviting her attentions, and the young woman smiled.

"While we have formally withdrawn from human politics, we always keep an eye on those who are poised to change the course of history. The Courts are protective of their younger siblings."

Mismatched green and blue eyes looked to Lucius, mustering a charming smile as the rose was carefully plucked. In a move that would seem small- trivial, even- she levitated the rose in front of her hand, making it spin slowly as the flower bloomed fully. Then crystallized, forever frozen in its current form. It was plucked from the air with a skilled hand, and then graciously offered to Lucius.

"Change history?" Lucius eyed her hungrily, eager for more information.

Death Eaters were a superstitious lot, she had found. They always wanted some prophecy or a bit of arcane knowledge to pass onto their Master. A desperate attempt to keep the Dark Lord's violence pointed outward towards the world (rather than inwards to his followers). Henri gave a small smile, but no more information.

"I believe I should retire for a bit of rest before dinner, ."

There was an inclined head, and an offered hand. Malfoy's lips brushed the cold air above her knuckles and she was excused, disapparating to appear instantly in the rooms she was leant for the duration of her visit.

"Fuck," she cursed, letting the quiet word echo through the room.

She hated the stuffy manners of pure bloods with all of their petty and polite talk. Delighting a little in the break from her manners, she cursed again.

"Shite. Bugger. Merde."

An evil grin spread across her face as she fell back on the bed. The corset was uncomfortable, and she wondered why she had even had the poor luck to draw this assignment.

"The French incident," she muttered the answer darkly to herself.

Of course, that was why she had been more or less banished here with strict orders to play both sides. Playing both sides was something she was very, very good at. Dumbledore had been an old friend to her from her youth. She had immediately gone to him to renew the connection and get information about what was going on.

The story wasn't a pleasant one. As a scholar of Wizarding history but not Muggle history, Dumbledore did not draw the same parallels between Lord Voldemort and Hitler. It always amazed the Fae how Wizards and Muggles alike were able to keep their lives and government so separate. It was an isolation often envied, but never copied.

Dumbledore had told her he had a few spies in the Dark Lord's service. She would not be surprised to find that Voldemort had his own spies as well. It was how wars were played. Dumbledore had kept his hand close to his vest, and so she did not know who Dumbledore's spies were or what they looked like.

He didn't trust her. While it did hurt her, it did not anger her overmuch. It was a dangerous game he was playing, so-

She was disrupted from her thoughts when someone barged into the room. Her hands immediately went to her pistol and she stood, drawing the weapon and pointing it at the intruder.

"Explain yourself," the surly man demanded in a quiet voice, his pitch black eyes narrowed as he watched the woman in his rooms.

She was a slight thing- barely five foot tall, with dark hair and wild eyes. His eyes traveled down her form and to her weapon.

"What an interesting choice of firearm. The Dark Lord will be interested to find such a lover of Muggle weapons under his roof," he smirked.

Henri made no move at this, her weapon staying trained on the man's tall form - his chest, to be specific.

"It is a Fae weapon," she growled, cocking the gun and keeping it trained.

"DOBBY IS SO SORRY!"

Both humans jumped at the appearance of the tiny elf, banging his head on the door.

"Dobby begs forgiveness from Master Snape and Countess!"

With the tension broken, the gun was tucked back into its hiding place, and both pairs of eyes were on the little green... thing.

"Master Snape is to be taking the Green rooms this evening!" The little thing wailed, continuing to bang it's head.

"Is it suicidal?" Henri muttered, watching it with her head tilted to her side.

She'd have to ask Dumbledore what in blazes it was- she certainly had no clue.

"It's punishing itself for its' mistake." Master Snape muttered, before sighing impatiently. "Well, don't just stand there! Move my bags to the new room!"

He turned to Henri with a narrowed eye look before sweeping from the room, following the tiny green masochist.


End file.
